Right Now
by Saiyuumi
Summary: "Please don't wait up for me, love. I'll be home late tonight." FrUk, side USUK.
1. Prologue - First of Many

**Prologue**

**First of Many**

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**xXx**

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"_Please don't wait up for me, love. I'll be home late tonight."_

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**xXx**

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Arthur had always been a boring man. Or a simple one at the very least. Simply dressed, simple goals, simple pleasures. He showed up everyday to his job at the publishing company, did what he needed to, got his dues, and rarely socialized. While his work wasn't bestseller material, he was rather popular amongst the community for his articles on fairy tales in a local magazine. A modest position and one he was completely content to reside in. The perfect nameless, faceless cog in the mechanism of corporal business.

His home-life was no different. No real hobbies besides reading and gardening. Owner of one cat. Faithful partner for a spanning two years. Rarely went out on the town, though was prone to a massive hangover the next morning for these rare instances of splurge.

He led a happy, simple life.

But there was one thing that threw a wrench into his plan – his editor. Francis Bonnefoy was the foil to his character, if looking from a storyteller's viewpoint, in every sense of the word. A man of many extravagant pleasures – from fine clothing, dining, wines, and cigars – as the Brit came to learn through his months on the clock. Never once standing still in his exciting life, living out every moment like it was the last. Not only was the man blessed with good taste, but good looks as well. From his perfectly structured face, to his sharp blue eyes, flowing blonde hair tied off into a ponytail, and perfectly proportioned body, he seemed much homier walking on the catwalk rather than pushing pencils. All complete with a personality that matched the expectations of such looks – snobbish, flirty, and egotistical; it drove him mad.

Now was no different. Arthur felt like he would go insane, all due to this pretty, pretty man. Burning by an incredible heat, like hellfire itself, he could only extinguish it by rolling his hips back. Those perfectly poised lips ghosted over his goose-bitten skin, latched onto the back of his neck and sucked. The Brit shivered, feeling weak in the knees like he would collapse right to the floor if his weight wasn't pushed into the desk.

Hands greedily roamed along his chest, gripping and grabbing and scratching at any skin he could find. Somehow his touch felt like both mistreatment and a lover's gentle caress at the same time. Francis's fingers were much different compared to Alfred; not as callous, but much more slender and graceful. They knew exactly where to pinch and tweak and squeeze to further the man's madness.

_Clap. Clap. Clap. _

Adultery rang in Arthur's ears, drowning the rest of the world out.

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**xXx**

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_**BETA REQUIRED**_

**For all the literary nerds out there, this story will follow a framed format. Which means that we know what the effect is, but the causes will be revealed in time. Yay. **

**I love the Blonde Trio. Or FRUKUS. Or whatever you may call it. I have no idea why. Anyway, this started as an one-shot but has involved into a full length fic. This was the prologue, and very short. Other chapters will be longer. **


	2. Chapter 1 - Double Check

**Chapter 1**

**Double Check**

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**xXx**

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"…_Can you believe what he had me do? He's touched in the head, I'm telling you!"_

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**xXx**

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_Click. Click. Click. A pause. Click. _

A sigh escaped Arthur's lips as he leaned back. The old swivel chair creaked in protest at the shift in weight, but he paid it no mind. Despite its decrepit appearance, from the faux leather peeling off the arms to the missing wheel on one leg, it would still hold. Done, he was finally done. After two weeks of researching and drafting the man had a final copy at last. With another click the mechanical hum of the printer blared, one that sounded like a dying animal, pumping out sheets from the ejection slot.

Joy swelled within Arthur, proud to finally have the piece done. Now it only needed to be run by his editor, have it looked over, and make any appropriate changes. All of which was more difficult than it sounded. Not because he couldn't handle constructive criticism, but because of the critic himself.

Swallowing down any feeling of dread, the Brit knocked on the door, papers in hand. A moment passed before he was answered. "Come in." Francis sat so carelessly in his desk chair, eyes trained on his computer monitor. His eyes rolled to the newcomer, lips tugged up into a revolting smirk. "Oh, hello. How are you?"

"I have my draft," Arthur said as he handed the packet over the desk, ignoring small talk. Professionalism always was his greatest priority.

The Frenchman looked the first page over, eyes darting across each line with practiced ease. Those cerulean orbs stopped abruptly. His mouth tugged down to a frown with a sigh. "No, no, no, _Cher_. This is all wrong."

Arthur balled his hands to fists locked tightly at his side. There was no way he could finish looking it over that quick. "What is wrong with it?" He ignored the patronizing nickname. Within a week of work, he was dubbed as such, much against his will. But no matter how many corrections he has made for his name, _Cher_ will remain. The smirk returned, taunting him. "That doesn't help me."

"You can't figure it out yourself?"

"No." He thought his writing improved. It was far from perfect, but it was the best he had. Revised four separate times, he was sure there were no errors; or at least ones so distinctive to be picked out so easily.

"I see…" Francis dropped the draft onto a pile with no indication of explaining the opinion.

The Brit cleared his throat angrily. "Well, don't you think you should tell me? You are my editor, after all."

"Hmm." It came out much deeper than the man's normal tone. His head jolted in a way of cracking his neck and his shoulders rolled. "I have a lot of work to do." He turned the monitor to show he was telling the truth. He being on some sort of scandalous website was not a farfetched thought; one that Arthur would believe. "I don't have time to explain something so simple. Figure it out yourself, _Cher_."

Thereafter, Arthur spent the rest of his work day looking the essay over and over again. Not because he was ordered to do so, but because he wanted to prove his editor wrong. Absolutely nothing was wrong with his piece. And so the man triple checked over everything, making sure every rule and function was correct. Tensing… comma usage… connotation… overall flow. Everything. Once finished, he returned to the office.

"How is it now?"

Francis reread the draft. His brow creased as he did so. "No," he said in a bored tone, "Still wrong."

Arthur seethed for a moment. If he were a cartoon, smoke would blow from his ears or his body would explode like a mine. No, he really was about to explode. "What! I checked everything over. I did your work for you, frog. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it!"

He exhaled through his nose, brow raised in clear amusement from the man's outburst. The Brit was always so much fun to wind up. "While I do thank you for making my job easier, there really is a problem with your piece."

"How can that be possible?" he snapped. "I checked over my essay at least ten times!"

"Oh, I never said there was anything wrong with your essay."

Arthur creased his brow, staring at the man incredulously. "…_What_?"

"I said there's nothing wrong with your essay. …But there still is something terribly wrong."

"Oh?" Arthur chuckled, agitation clear in his voice. Francis was always a man of games. "Then tell me this mysterious error."

"Alright… Check your spelling," He looked down at the paper then up at the writer, "Mr. _Kirland_."

For a moment, the Brit remained silent. Another moment passed to process the statement . Snatching away the paper frantically, his gaze fell onto the header:

**_ARTHUR KIRLAND_**

**_FAIRY PIECE_**

**_10/21/2012_**

One 'K' was what brought on so much stress. A single letter. Something that was so simple, but so easy to spot out. He had been too busy reading over the body, he missed such a clear typo. One tap to the keyboard and everything would be fixed.

He looked up the man, mouth agape and a slight tint of pink dusting his pale cheeks. Terribly embarrassed, all Arthur wanted to do was punch the Frenchman right in his shit-eating grin. Francis, however, showed no sign of fear and excused himself from the desk. He walked to the other side of the room, standing in the doorway. Like most in the building, he was ready to clock out.

"Better luck next time, _Cher. Adieu._"

With those words and a wink, the Frenchman left Arthur alone, who completely flabbergasted.

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**xXx**


End file.
